


The Color Brown

by yinghuochong



Series: Color Me Free [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Bittersweet, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Color Blindness, Colors, M/M, Melancholy, Senses, Young, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 23:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16628438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yinghuochong/pseuds/yinghuochong
Summary: Minho couldn't remember a world with color. He had been five when he and his parents had gotten into a collision with another car. His mother and father had died on site. He had spent a week in comatose before waking up, completely disoriented and scared. He was too young to understand much of what his grandparents told him. All he knew was that the world was grey and his parents were gone.





	The Color Brown

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovlies!
> 
> I was feeling a bit melancholy and decided to actually post something for a change. You have no idea how many stories I have started and not completed yet. There are just so many ideas and not enough time between school and work.
> 
> I just took an exam today so I decided that I earned the right to sit and relax for once.
> 
> Anyways, this will be part of a series where each chapter is a different relationship and color. Honestly, I don't have an ending for this yet but hopefully it will come to me!

_Trying to embrace the picture I paint_  
_And color me free_

 

_\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

 

Minho couldn't remember a world with color. He had been five when he and his parents had gotten into a collision with another car. His mother and father had died on site. He had spent a week in comatose before waking up, completely disoriented and scared. He was too young to understand much of what his grandparents told him. All he knew was that the world was grey and his parents were gone.

 

He had spent the following month recalling the memories before he lost his parents, trying to get glimpses of color, but by doing so he only felt pain. It was a harsh way to exist and his life felt emptier every day. It showed in his behavior and his grandparents worried about his health. In the physical sense, he had fully recovered from the accident. In every other, though, he was still suffering. At just five years old, he was ridden with grief and diagnosed with depression. By the end of the year, he had undergone therapy and intense treatment. He had been subjected to a noninvasive, experimental procedure that brought his memories to the surface, painted them in greyscale, and resettled them back into his brain.

 

It was bittersweet -- forgetting what color looked like or that he had once been able to see it. To anyone else, the concept would seem a tragic one, possibly even cruel, removing all traces of pigmentation from his mind. For him, though, a burden had been unknowingly lifted. All he had to do was go to the doctor’s office and sleep in a comfortable bed. When he woke up he was given ice cream and then he went home. His grandparents saw a positive change in his demeanor and he somewhat returned to the child he was before. He still missed his parents, grieved for them, cherished the memories he had of them, but that was the only thing he wept over now.

 

The names of colors had no meaning, just words he pretended to understand. His teachers all knew he was, beyond, colorblind and so did he, to an extent. He didn’t know what it meant to be that but he knew it was what he was -- what he saw. It was hard trying to imagine that the world looked different to everyone else but he didn’t mind. His grandparents had told him he had been born like that but it was okay, it made him special. He liked being special. He didn’t have to do certain projects and he could just watch the class turtle swim in its tank instead.

 

By the time Minho was nine, he was reclusive. He didn’t talk to other kids, he saw no point in it. It always ended in him having to explain that he didn’t have parents anymore. After four years, it was tiresome and it ruined his day. Now that his grandfather had passed away, going to school was hard because he knew his grandmother would be at home alone. She did her best to keep smiling for his sake, but he knew that she still cried at night. The older he got, the more “parent days” made him sad and he didn’t like the “when I grow up” projects either. He had used to love both when he was younger. He would always proudly tell people how he wanted to be an artist, like his mother, or a photographer, like his father. Now, he just wanted to make it through the day. He no longer dreamed about the future or dreamed at all, really.

 

Minho had been sitting on his favorite bench one day, at the edge of the playground, watching how his feet swayed several inches above the ground. It was recess and there were children running around everywhere. He generally disliked the outdoors but it wasn’t too bad as long as he was left alone. He didn’t like playing very much and he preferred to just sit quietly by himself. The teachers had stopped trying to get him to participate a long time ago. He had been grateful when they had finally given up. Now he spent his time counting how many times he could swing his legs before they had to go inside. Everyday he was sure that it was probably in the hundreds but he always lost his spot and had to start over.

 

That is why he didn’t mind stopping to help a younger boy who had been pushed to the ground by some bullies. He had noticed the other bouncing a rubber ball earlier but it wasn’t something that was necessarily eye catching. There were always kids playing with toys. The only reason he thought about it then was because the younger boy was no longer holding it. Instead, the other’s hands were gripping dirt and there were tears lining his eyes and a pout on his lips. Minho hopped down from his bench and extended a hand out to the boy. The younger gave him a wary look, he offered a small smile before the other had decided to reach for it.

 

When their palms connected, something flashed in his vision, causing him to stumble and he was on the ground in an instant. When he opened his eyes, the other boy was leaning over him, head tilted to the side.

 

“Are you okay?” The younger asked.

 

He nodded, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands before pushing himself up. He felt lightheaded from standing too quickly. In front of him, the other looked concerned, catching his shoulders as he swayed forward. The same thing from before happened, only he didn’t completely collapse this time, feeling his knees go weak. He managed to steady himself with the help of the younger boy, ending up at eye level.

 

He opened his mouth to thank the other, but he couldn’t breathe. Before him was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. He was speechless as he stared into the younger’s eyes. They were so different from before but indescribably so. His mind was racing as he tried to comprehend the image in front of him, searching for anything to explain what he was looking at. Finally, he found something. The smell of his grandfather’s coffee slammed in to him. He staggered back, hopelessly confused. This time, the other didn’t reach for him and the younger’s eyes returned to normal.

 

He shook his head slightly, clearing the aroma from his brain. Before he could say anything, the bell rang. The boy offered him a tiny wave and then just like that, he was swept away in the crowd of kids. Minho hadn’t been able to stop replaying the moment, wondering if something had really happened or he was just going crazy. He couldn’t complete any of his work, too distracted to think about anything else for the rest of the day.

 

He was trying to get off the bus when someone bumped into him from behind. His vision flickered again, causing him to lose his footing. He practically fell off the bottom step, laughter erupting from his classmates, but he didn’t care because the boy from recess was standing above him with wide eyes. He scrambled to his feet, the younger automatically holding his arm before the dizziness hit him again. The other’s eyes changed again, but this time the hair did too. The bitter taste of chocolate flooded Minho’s mouth as he stared at the boy’s hair.

 

“I’m sorry I keep making you fall.” The other apologized, pulling his hands back to fiddle with the straps on his bookbag. The younger looked normal again and when Minho didn’t respond, the boy continued, “My name is Jeongin. What’s yours?”

 

“M-Minho,” he stuttered. Trying to commit the previous image to his memory, searching for any remaining traces and noticing that the flavor disappeared from his tongue.

 

“Hi, Minho!” Jeongin smiled widely, “I’m seven years old. I live in the brown house around the corner.” The younger pointed in the direction he would be going, “Where do you live?”

 

“I live that way too.”

 

The two walked side by side, Jeongin chattering endlessly about his neighbor’s new puppy. Minho half listened while he wondered why he had never realized that the younger was on his bus. It was probably because he wasn’t very interested in the people around him and hadn’t been for years. He had been so lost in his own mind, he hadn’t realized that they had stopped in the middle of a driveway. Jeongin tugged on his arm, snapping him out of his thoughts.

 

“Minho,” the younger bounced, “this is my house.”

 

He turned to look, tensing as his senses were overloaded with the smell of decorative pine cones, the cinnamon swirling through his brain. When Jeongin let go, the house flickered back to normal, and he desperately grabbed for the younger’s hand.

 

“Wait, please.” He begged, holding onto the other for dear life. “Please, don’t let go.”

 

“Aren’t I hurting you?” Jeongin asked worriedly.

 

“No,” he shook his head vigorously, “Not at all.”

 

“Then why do you act like it?”

 

“I-I, uh, I can’t tell you.” Minho curled in on himself, “You will think I’m weird.”

 

Jeongin just tilted his head curiously, expecting him to explain anyway.

 

“W-whenever you touch me,” he started, “things look, uh, _different_.”

 

“What looks different?”

 

“Y-your eyes and your hair.”

 

“Really?”

 

He just nodded, “Your house does too.”

 

Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer as they looked around in awe. He followed their movement, noting how they seemed to pop more when the other’s hair changed as well.

 

“And,” Minho continued, “I smell or taste things that aren’t around.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Coffee, chocolate, Christmas pinecones.” He chewed his bottom lip, “I don’t know why. This has never happened before.”

 

Jeongin seemed to think momentarily, before perking up. “I think I know why!”

 

Minho laughed lightly at the seven year old’s enthusiasm.

 

“I think it’s because all of those things are brown.”

 

His smile turned into a frown, “Brown?” It was one of the words he had learned how to read and write but didn’t know what it meant. Therefore, he never used it. “What is that?”

 

“It’s a color.” Jeongin chimed, “My hair is brown and so are my eyes. Your eyes are brown too.”

 

“I have black eyes.”

 

“No you don’t. They’re a really dark brown, but they aren’t black. Your hair is black.”

 

Minho was utterly perplexed. He had looked into the mirror before. His eyes looked the same as his hair, as his backpack, as the tree trunks, as the dirt, as his pencil led, as his chocolate bars.

 

“How does that explain why I taste things that I’m not eating?” He questioned, more to himself.

 

“I think maybe because they are also colored brown so they remind you of the taste.”

 

Minho had to admit, Jeongin was pretty smart for his age. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, but he didn’t think he was opposed to it. Right off the bat, he realized that he could only see, what the younger called, “brown” when he was in physical contact with said boy. If what the other said _was_ true, that his mind was associating the taste of things with the hues he was beginning to see, he wanted to know how his brain could even connect them if he had never seen color before. Honestly, he didn’t really dwell on it, too busy learning how to see the world in a new way.

 

He began to spend every possible waking moment with Jeongin as the younger slowly introduced him to the color brown. At first, all he wanted to do was touch the other’s hair, obsessed with how soft and pretty it was. The more Minho was with the younger, the more changed when they were connected. They would walk holding hands so Jeongin could point out different things on their way home.Together, they learned how this _thing_ , that happened to Minho, worked. Sometimes objects would just change on their own, but other times it required more. The younger would ask him about whether certain things changed and, depending on his answer, they would go over and touch it together. That had seemed to be the key to inducing pigmentation.

 

That was how he had been introduced to mud. Originally, he had thought it was just a puddle of water from a distance. However, as they approached it, he realized he couldn’t see his reflection. Jeongin had asked him if he could see its color. He had shaken his head no. The younger had a mischievous look on his face as he pulled Minho into the mud with him. Suddenly, they were both covered in it and his mind provided him with the taste of chocolate pudding. That had been a good day. His grandmother had started scolding him for coming home so dirty, but ceased when she noticed that he couldn’t stop grinning.

 

When his birthday had come around, Jeongin had knocked on his front door with a chocolate cupcake in one hand and a bag clutched in the other. They sat on the floor of his room as the younger gave new things color. Their fingers were laced together as Jeongin placed a small pile of beans in his free palm. He watched as some turned darker than others -- espresso versus coffee beans. Minho also learned the difference between milk chocolate and dark chocolate, not realizing that the sweet treat even came in various shades.

 

A jar of dirt and a package of cookies were also in the bag, but Minho’s favorite gift was the paint fan deck. He had opened it, splaying all the strips out. At first, he could only see it in greyscale, until Jeongin reached forward and ran a finger along several sample cards. Minho had felt his eyes widen as he marveled at his gift, discovering all the different possible hues brown could have.

 

“I know you can’t see all of them now,” The younger had been quiet, bashful, avoiding eye contact and mindlessly playing with one of his hands, “but maybe if we keep trying you will one day.”

 

Another one of his favorite moments was when Minho finally met the puppy Jeongin often raved about. The younger’s neighbor had let them into the yard to play. That had been his first experience with animals, beyond a classroom turtle, and he had been hesitant to pet it. Jeongin had guided his hand to stroke the soft fur. Instantly the dog’s coat changed before his eyes.

 

“Can you see it now? She’s a chocolate lab.” The younger had been watching him with a big smile. “Her name is Brownie.”

 

They had been laying on the grass, the puppy tired out from playing and curled in between them. While Minho drew patterns into Brownie’s fur, Jeongin traced his fingers.

 

“Minho,” the younger said quietly, “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

 

He lifted his head slightly, a little taken aback by the sudden question. “Not really. I don’t ever think about the future. Why are you asking me that suddenly?”

 

“Well,” Jeongin laughed, “a girl from my class says that we should get married because we’re always together.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Minho smiled fondly, “What do you think?”

 

“I think we should.”

 

“Oh, but Jeongin,” He teased, “We’re way too young for that.”

 

“Not now, obviously.” The younger playfully hit his arm, before swirling patterns across his arm, “I mean when we’re older.”

 

“Hm, okay. Sure.” He chuckled, “Wait, don’t people have to be in love to be married?”

 

“Yeah, they do...” Jeongin’s fingers paused on his skin momentarily, before the younger slipped a hand into his, “I think I love you, though.”

 

He knew very well that they were probably too young to genuinely understand what love is. Regardless, it didn’t really matter to him and his heart sped up a little.

 

“Do you love me?” The other asked.

 

He hadn’t even hesitated.

 

“Yes, I do love you.”

 

“Good.” Jeongin had hummed, “We will get married when we are older.”

 

From that moment on, Minho was able to see brown without Jeongin touching him. At first, the younger had looked so excited until he didn’t. When Minho asked him what was wrong, the other responded with tears in his eyes.

 

“You can see it all on your own now.” Jeongin had sniffed. “That means, you won’t need me anymore.”

 

“Don’t be silly, of course I do.” He had pulled the younger into a hug and said, “We are in love, remember?”

 

Even something so pure and innocent as childhood love couldn’t freeze the beautiful moments or stop the world from turning. Jeongin had moved away in the new year, his father’s job sending them overseas. Minho had stood in their driveway, watching forlornly as the car took his Jeongin away. He could see the younger waving goodbye from the back seat, his ten-year old heart going with him. Minho had sobbed in the driveway long after they were gone. He would never forget Jeongin who introduced him to color, who’s smile made his dull world much brighter, and who was the first boy he ever loved. Brown wasn’t the color of mud, the smell of coffee, the taste of chocolate. It wasn’t the cinnamon scented pine cones or the roasted espresso beans. It was the color of Jeongin, the light in his eyes, and the softness of his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this series, "Color Me Free" was inspired by the lyrics of "Heaven" by Troye Sivan. Two lines appear at the beginning of the story.  
> (If you haven't listened to it, I recommend it! It is seriously such a wonderful song, I might have teared up the first time I heard it I can't remember. It was so long ago but still such a good one!)
> 
> Also, if I wasn't splitting this up into separate works, I would have filed this under my "Song Inspired" series.  
> However, some of the future parts will have more mature or explicit storylines as Minho will grow to be a young adult. I did not want his childhood stories to be tagged for explicit content which is why I chose to break this into individual parts.


End file.
